


Five times Sherlock Popped Out of Somewhere He Shouldn’t Have Been

by FireDancer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:24:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireDancer/pseuds/FireDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it says on the tin:  Sherlock Holmes has a long history of being places he shouldn't be.  Sometimes it turns out badly, sometimes... it doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Sherlock Popped Out of Somewhere He Shouldn’t Have Been

1: Mycroft paused, frowning slightly, and held up his finger to his companion before getting up and jerking the door to his closet open. A bundle of skinny limbs and curly black hair tumbled out and Mycroft gave his little brother a stern look, grateful that all he'd been doing was discussing homework assignments not some of the more... sensitive plans he was working on. "Sherlock, why are you in my closet?"

Picking himself up and glaring at Mycroft resentfully, Sherlock snapped, "I was measuring it. There are 47 relatively hidden locations in the house where a pirate chest of the typical size and weight could be concealed." He paused then added with apparent satisfaction, "Your closet isn't one of them."

And with that Sherlock marched off, leaving Mycroft to deal with his gaping lab partner.

 

 

2: The story was famous, though no one told it until they were all spectacularly drunk, either on alcohol or sleep deprivation. And of course no one told it when DI Lestrade was around at all. But the way Donovan told it, the department had pitched in to get Lestrade a joke stripper cake, just to poke fun at him a bit, but instead of a scantily clad stripper popping out of the cake, it had been Sherlock Holmes. Needless to say the party had gone rapidly downhill from there and there was still a great deal of confusion on why, exactly, Holmes had been in the cake in the first place. Anyone brave enough to ask him about it simply got a scathing look and a cutting remark about their lack of intelligence and deductive reasoning and never dared bring it up again.

 

 

3: "You have five seconds to get out of there before I... Sherlock?!"

"Yes John, obviously."

"... What are you doing in my shower?"

"There are molds growing in the one downstairs."

"That wouldn't happen if you cleaned it every now and again."

"Clean it?! I'm cultivating those molds for an experiment!"

"... Right. Um, Sherlock? You didn't have to open the curtain to tell me that, for the record. You... go ahead. I'll just be downstairs."

 

 

4: John really had no idea how they hadn't ended up in the sewers before now. It seemed like the sort of inevitability that one should resign himself to when he signed up to be Sherlock Holmes' blogger. Not that he'd been looking forward to it, obviously, and now that he was here he found it was even worse than his imagination had suggested it would be. But at least they'd finally found the bag of stolen jewels they'd been looking for and at the top of this shaft was cool, blessedly clean (or as clean as London got) air. Looking up, waiting impatiently as Sherlock lifted the cover, John heard a rush of wheels and instinctively he jumped up to grab Sherlock's belt and yanked him down hard just as a car sped by overhead. He ended up flat on his back in a scummy liquid he never wanted to think about again, with an irritated consulting detective on his chest, but at least Sherlock still had his head. 

 

 

5: "For the last time Harry, Sherlock and I aren't together," John flopped back on his bed while his sister spoke and rubbed his hand over his face, "Alright, yeah, fine, I am a bit, but he's literally said he's married to his work. He just doesn't do relationships, they aren't his area, and I'm not going to say anything that'll make things awkward when I know there's no point to it. Please Harry, just leave it be?"

Letting his hand fall again when his sister agreed, John relaxed, "Thanks. Look, I'd better go, I haven't heard a thing from him since I got home and God only knows what that means. I'll talk to you later alright?"

Hanging up a moment later he was staring at the ceiling when he heard a muffled voice coming from below him, "There would certainly be a point to it."

John jerked in surprise and sat up to lean over his bed just in time to see Sherlock emerge as smoothly and gracefully as if he did this sort of thing every day. "What in God's name are you doing under my bed?"

"Research. I believe I can amend my previous statement," Sherlock dusted himself off as he announced this, and John frowned.

"What statement?"

"When I said that relationships aren't my area. I've been doing some reevaluation and I believe that I could expand my expertise, but only with the right individual. Relationships require a certain level of compatibility I've only found with you."

John blinked, momentarily baffled, then asked incredulously, "Did you hide under my bed to find out if I LIKED YOU?"

Sherlock paused and gave him a dignified look, "It was a perfectly logical data gathering method."


End file.
